


Another One Bites The Dust

by Silverofyou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Fever, Fluff, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Forehead Kisses, Future Fic, Hair Washing, Lots of Cuddling, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Post-Canon, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, There's not a lot of plot, contagious disease, hanamaki is unemployed, iwa's still an athletic trainer, iwaizumi's too cute when he's sick, just a cold tho its ok, just canon stuff lol, mattsun's still a funeral home employee, my first chaptered fic, oikawa comes back from argentina and plays for a local team idk it's not important, wipes tear, would you look at that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26276056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverofyou/pseuds/Silverofyou
Summary: Iwaizumi catches a cold, and the idiots he lives with apparently have no sense of self preservation.“Oi, Shittykawa,” he says, voice raspy but firm. He holds back the urge to cough. Tooru looks up from where he’s putting Hajime’s feet through each pant leg. His brow is furrowed, but Hajime doesn't think Tooru even notices. “I’m fine, really. It’s probably no--”“If you say ‘It’s probably nothing,’ Iwa-chan, I swear to God I will make Makki bring you nothing but my grandma’s brew for allergies for the rest of the day.”Hajime clicks his mouth shut.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Iwaizumi Hajime, Hanamaki Takahiro/Iwaizumi Hajime/Matsukawa Issei/Oikawa Tooru, Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Hanamaki Takahiro/Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Matsukawa Issei/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 9
Kudos: 120
Collections: Seijoh Week 2020





	Another One Bites The Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Early submission for Seijoh Week 2020, day 7: third years. 
> 
> I'll post the other chapters at some point in the following weeks, if school doesn't kill me first. You can read this one on its own though!
> 
> Enjoy!!

As an athletic trainer, Hajime has to spend a lot of time in very close proximity to the members of his team. He doesn’t mind, most of the time-- except when people decide to cough in the middle of getting their nose checked, with no chance of covering their mouth, directly on Hajime’s face. And then said person calls out of practice because they’re sick. Hajime minds very much then. 

Around a week later, he starts to feel weird. He’s not  _ sick,  _ he’s just feeling… a little unwell. It’s probably allergies. Nothing the cold air of the morning can’t fix, he thinks that night as he gets into bed. 

“You shouldn’t go out so early tomorrow,” Issei slurs, nuzzling his shoulder. “You’re sick.”

“‘M not sick,” Hajime grumbles, moving back so his back is pressed against Issei’s chest and Issei can wrap his arm around his middle. “It’s just,” cough, “allergies.”

He can feel Issei let out air through his nose against the back of his head. “Mhm, sure.”

He doesn’t deign to respond.

He wakes up with his 5am alarm, kisses the top of Issei’s head-- who still has an arm around him-- extracts himself, and changes into his jog clothes. He ends up wearing a hoodie over his shirt because… well, it’s chilly. He’s usually fine without one but today’s specially cold, he thinks. He looks at Tooru and Takahiro, both sprawled on their shared bed, sheets up to their waist, chests bare, and shivers involuntarily. He hopes they don’t catch a cold.

Usually he runs for an hour. He doesn’t care about distance so much as time. He goes to the nearest park and runs as many laps as he can in that time. Usually he only starts to get breathless around minute 45, but today he hasn’t been running for even half an hour when he starts to feel like his lungs are burning and begging him for air. His nose has somehow gotten stuffier rather than the opposite, and his head feels a little like it’s full of cotton. He tries to shake it a couple of times to clear it up and keeps running. 

He’s only a couple of minutes away from finishing when suddenly he feels his legs give out under him. He doesn’t even know what happened. One minute he was trying to catch his breath, the next he’s collapsing in a heap on the floor. 

He distantly hears the voices of the few other joggers that are up running that early in the morning. He feels a set of hands help him sit up, and he gratefully leans against them, allowing himself a few moments of weakness to gather himself.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says, gently pushing away someone’s bottle of water. “Thank you, I’m okay.”

As he stands up, he feels a sting on his right elbow-- he must have scraped it in the fall. God, Issei is going to kill him. 

He makes sure to walk slowly on his way back. He’s feeling dizzy, and he’s breathing heavily from both exertion and the congestion he feels in his chest. He climbs up the stairs of their porch with difficulty and, once he finally gets to the door, knocks weakly, forgetting entirely that he has his keys in his pocket.

It’s Tooru who opens the door. Great. He’s bleary eyed, having obviously just gotten up, and his hair is sticking up everywhere, kind of adorably, and Hajime fights the urge to just collapse into his arms.

“Iwa-chan, did you forget your keys?” Tooru asks, squinting against the morning light. He moves to let Hajime in, then seems to notice the way Hajime is swaying on his feet. He pulls him in by the arm and closes the door behind him. Hajime leans his weight against him, reveling in the warmth of his body. God, why is he so  _ cold.  _ “Whoa there. Are you o-- is that  _ blood?”  _

And oh, Hajime wants to tell him not to be so loud, but it’s too late now and he hears Issei’s and Takahiro’s steps padding over sleepily to see what’s going on. Hajime makes an inhuman effort to pull back from Tooru and stand straight. 

“I scraped my elbow, that’s all,” he croaks out. His throat feels like sandpaper. “I fell while I was running. I think I blacked out or something, I don’t remember falling,” he adds as an afterthought.

“You are such an idiot,” he hears, and his eyes go to Issei, who’s leaning his shoulder against a wall, wearing nothing but his boxers and the shirt he went to sleep in. There are pillow marks on his face and Hajime wants to kiss them. He hears a low whine and he thinks maybe it comes from the back of his throat. Issei rolls his eyes, but Tooru and Takahiro look at him with alarm. “I told you not to go running.”

“I think I’m sick _ , _ ” Hajime grumbles. In two strides, Takahiro is next to him, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead. 

“You’re burning up, Hajime.” He slides his hand down to his cheek, making Hajime shiver. He leans into the touch. Takahiro huffs affectionately and kisses his forehead. “God. Go lie down for a bit, I’ll make you breakfast. Issei will get you some medicine from the drugstore before he leaves for work.”

Issei hums his agreement. Hajime nods, eyes closed, head still resting against Takahiro’s palm. Tooru grabs his hand and leads him into the bedroom, leaving Takahiro and Issei to mutter among themselves. Suddenly Hajime feels very tired. 

“You don’t need to baby me, idiot,” he says without any heat. Tooru only intertwines their fingers in response. When they make it to the bed, Tooru pushes him softly until Hajime is sitting on it. Hajime takes a careful look at his face-- he looks both exasperated and concerned. Hajime sniffs.

“Change out of those sweaty clothes before getting into bed, Iwa-chan. Or you’ll make the sheets all gross.” Tooru starts to move around, taking Hajime’s messily folded PJs out of the drawer and throwing them at him. Then he goes to the bathroom and retrieves the first-aid kit. He drops it on the bed and stands over Hajime. 

Hajime sneezes, eyes watering immediately. Tooru raises an eyebrow at him and crosses his arms. Hajime lets out a put-upon sigh but slowly peels away his hoodie and shirt. He feels a violent shiver rack his body at the friction of the fabric against his too-sensitive skin and  _ oh, maybe he does have a fever.  _ He takes care not to let the fabric brush against his scraped elbow too much.

“This is what you get for not listening to Mattsun,” Tooru says, as he moves to kneel in front of him. He extends his open palm in a demanding gesture, and Hajime offers his arm begrudgingly. Oikawa falls into action immediately, soaking a cotton ball in peroxide and efficiently cleaning the dirt on and around the wound. Hajime flinches at the sting at first, but Tooru’s fingers are firm and careful, and Hajime doesn't have to try too hard to relax and let him do his job. 

His brain feels fuzzy. He guesses that between the fever and the run, he might be a little bit dehydrated. That, and also having to breathe through his mouth because his nose is stuffy. This is horrible.

“All done,” Tooru says, running his fingers over the band aid he apparently just plastered on Hajime’s arm, and stands up. Did Hajime zone out for that long? He doesn't even remember-- “Now, Iwa-chan. Get dressed and get into bed.”

Hajime shivers, realizing how chilly he suddenly feels. He forgot he was shirtless for a moment. His movements feel heavy and slow as he picks up his shirt and pulls it over his head, and his right arm is a bit sore. Then, as he stands up to pull up his pants, he kinda just… falls back down on the bed. 

He sighs. 

Tooru looks at him with a hint of exasperation. “I’ll do it.” 

For a moment, in his daze, Hajime wonders why Tooru is suddenly mad at him. He’s about to say something, like how it isn't his  _ fault,  _ but then he sees the worried tension around Tooru’s mouth. 

“Oi, Shittykawa,” he says, voice raspy but firm. He holds back the urge to cough. Tooru looks up from where he’s putting Hajime’s feet through each pant leg. His brow is furrowed, but Hajime doesn't think Tooru even notices. “I’m fine, really. It’s probably no--”

“If you say ‘It’s probably nothing,’ Iwa-chan, I swear to God I will make Makki bring you nothing but my grandma’s brew for allergies for the rest of the day.”

Hajime clicks his mouth shut. Tooru finishes dressing him, much to Hajime’s chagrin, and pushes him back onto the bed. He pulls up the covers only to his waist, and forbids Hajime from pulling them up any farther. 

“What?! Why?” Hajime protests, going to pull on the blankets. Tooru slaps his hand away. “I’m  _ cold _ .”

Tooru rearranges the covers at his waist, ignoring him. “If you want the fever to go down, you can't be covered up from head to toe. It’ll just make it harder for your body to regulate the temperature.”

Hajime looks at him in dismay. “Since when are you a doctor?”

“You forget I spent most of my teenage years looking after Takeru. I know how to treat a cold fever.” 

Tooru finishes fussing around Hajime and finally pauses in front of him. His eyes soften a little as he runs his hand through Hajime’s sweaty, very gross hair, and Hajime closes his eyes for a second. Tooru leans down and kisses his forehead.

“I’m going to get ready for practice, and Mattsun should be here with your medicine soon.” He pulls back and puts his hands on his hips. “Don't give Makki a hard time, yeah?”

Hajime huffs, a little offended at the implication that he would. “I’m  _ fine.  _ Be careful at practice, don’t do anything stupid. My vision is blurry and Issei and Hiro are terrible at patching you up.”

He closes his eyes and gets comfortable against the pillows without waiting to see Tooru’s response at that. He hears Tooru mutter something under his breath, and his own lips tilt upwards.

When he opens his eyes again, it is to see Takahiro standing next to his bed, holding a tray in one hand and using the other to place a mug on the bedside table. He opens his mouth to say something about holding onto the tray more carefully, since it's dangerously balanced on his hip, but his voice feels like it’s been dragged out through the scrappy walls of hell. He coughs to clear up his throat. And keeps coughing, so much that his eyes water, and he feels a flicker of panic on the back of his head telling him he’s never going to breathe again. 

He distantly registers Takahiro carefully putting the tray on the floor and rushing to his side. When he can finally draw in deeper breaths and his vision has cleared up slightly, he notices the mug Takahiro is holding out to him, and he takes it gratefully. He takes a sip, careful not to spill it between the occasional spasms of his chest. It’s warm and sweet and soothes his chest almost immediately. Takahiro pushes at his legs softly. Hajime takes a couple of very slow, very long seconds to understand what he means, and thinks about how frustrating it is that his brain feels like it’s working underwater, as Takahiro sits on the edge of the bed next to Hajime’s legs. 

“Okay now?” He rests a hand on Hajime’s thigh, rubbing circles with his thumb, the warmth of his palm through the covers searing but comforting. Hajime takes a deep breath, testing his lungs and his throat, and only coughs very slightly. 

“Yeah,” he croaks out. His voice is barely above a whisper. He frowns, annoyed at his own body for being so weak. 

Takahiro seems to understand his frustration, because he squeezes his thigh and bends down to pick up something from the tray. Hajime thinks he’s going to hand him the bowl, but instead he picks up a bag of… marshmallows?

“What.”

Takahiro ignores him and takes one out of the bag. He impales it with a wooden stick. And holds it directly over Hajime’s head.

“What the fuck, Hiro.”

Takahiro’s face is serious and focused. Hajime feels impatience flicker in the back of his head. When Takahiro shows no sign of moving or explaining, Hajime swats his hand away-- or tries to. When did his arm become so heavy?

Takahiro actually laughs. “This is honestly the worst I’ve ever seen you, Hajime.”

Hajime glares at him. He doesn't need a reminder of how pathetic he probably looks right now. 

Takahiro finally takes mercy on him and says, in an entirely too cheerful voice, “I’m roasting marshmallows!” 

Hajime feels the beginning of a headache behind his eyes, and he doesn't think it’s from the cold at all. He tries to muster all the “do I look like I’m in the mood for this right now” energy he can into his eyes as he stares Takahiro down. He feels tempted to push him off the bed, but he doesn't think his legs would cooperate.

Takahiro looks completely unaffected. In fact, he’s still looking at his marshmallow rather than at Hajime. “You’re hot,” is all he offers as further explanation. 

Hajime is about to ask what the  _ fuck _ does he mean- when he realizes.

“Get out,” he says. Takahiro laughs so hard he almost drops the marshmallow, cold and solid,  _ not  _ roasted, on Hajime’s hair, but manages to catch it right on time. “I hate you.”

Takahiro wheezes, trying to catch his breath. He puts the marshmallow in his mouth and puts the rest of the bag back on the tray, then picks the latter up. Hajime scowls. 

“You know you look a lot less threatening with a red nose and puffy eyes, right?” Hajime does not, he  _ does not,  _ pout. Takahiro’s face does something weird. “Okay, that’s not fair at all.”

Hajime does pout a little then, which turns into a smirk when he sees Takahiro cover his eyes. He feels a little better. 

“ _ Anyway,  _ I brought you broth. It has tiny bits of chicken in it, but I can eat those if you don't want them.” He waits for Hajime to sit up more comfortably before balancing the tray on his lap. Then he reaches towards the bedside table and hands Hajime a thin white tablet. “Take this now before you eat.”

Hajime suppresses a sigh. He’s never really liked being fussed over, even when sick, but he knows his idiots only want to help. He takes the tablet from Takahiro and swallows it with a gulp of tea. 

“Guuuuh.” He sniffs, nose so stuffy it doesn't feel like he’s sniffed at all. He takes the bowl and wills his slightly shaky hands to still enough that he doesn't spill the broth all over himself. 

“Poor Hajime,” Takahiro says sympathetically, patting him on the shin. He sounds amused, the jerk. Hajime frowns at him. Takahiro just laughs. “Tooru said practice would probably run late today but that he’d bring you takeout if you’re feeling better. Issei will be picking him up.”

“Thank god,” Hajime mutters when he puts the empty bowl back on the tray. It didn't taste like anything at all to his numb taste buds, but the bits of chicken added a nice illusion. 

“I’ll tell him you said that. Now.” Takahiro picks up the tray and stands up. “Try not to die while I take this to the kitchen and take a shower.”

Hajime, whose eyes are already closing against his will, says in a drowsy voice, “Aren't you going to ask me to join you?”

Takahiro snorts. “Sure. If you can get out of the bed in the next three minutes. I’ll wait.”

Hajime falls asleep.

\---

Everything is so hot,  _ too hot _ . And yet so fucking cold. For a second, it’s so hot that he panics for a good few minutes about Takahiro accidentally burning down the kitchen. He tries to move, to get out of the bed and see what's wrong, but he can't move. Like he’s trapped. Like he’s tied to the bed, and everything is tight and hot and  _ why can't he move _ \--

“Hajime,” he hears. He thinks he hears. And oh, thank god, he’s not going to die. But then he doesn't hear the voice again, he-- did he just get abandoned? He yells, but his voice won't come out above a whisper. It feels like a nightmare. 

He struggles against the material holding him captive, but instead of liberating himself, he feels like with each movement, he’s even more restrained.

“Jesus, Hajime. Stop moving so much, you’re going to fall off the bed if you keep doing that.” There’s the voice again. He needs to hurry before it leaves again.

“Hiro- Takahiro. Is he okay? Where is he? Is he safe? The house-- you must find Takahiro!” He struggles against his restraints again, and he’s aware his voice sounds panicked and desperate. He feels a hand on his shoulder, trying to hold him down. He can't see anything.

“ _ Stop. Moving.”  _ The intensity of the voice gives him pause. He stays still. He feels the hand hesitate before leaving his shoulder, and then there’s the quick brush of fingers around his waist and in his legs. “You got all tangled up in the sheets, idiot. Look at me.”

“Where are you?” Hajime thinks the voice is coming from his right, but he’s not sure how close the person is. 

“Hajime?” There’s a note of urgency in the voice now. He feels the cool contact of a palm on his forehead, and he hisses. “Shit. C’mon, open your eyes, you won't see anything if you keep them closed.”

_ Oh. _

“Oh.” He opens his eyes. Then they hurt, so he closes them again. He tries again, blinking repeatedly, and slowly his surroundings come into focus. He sees that the person sitting next to him, the owner of the voice, is Takahiro. 

“Morning, sunshine!” Takahiro says cheerfully. Hajime slaps his arm. “Ow! What the fuck was that for?”

Hajime scowls. “You burned down the kitchen! And then you were  _ gone _ , and you didn't come when I called you! How the fuck did you manage to burn down the kitchen?”

Takahiro blinks down at him, jaw slack and mouth slightly open. Hajime wants to hit him again. Instead, he feels heat prickle behind his eyelids and he rubs at them with his fists. 

“Are you  _ crying? _ ” Takahiro’s voice rises a bit in panic, but Hajime refuses to look at him. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns his head to the side. The pillow is damp with sweat, but he doesn't care. 

“You scared me,” Hajime mumbles, sniffling. “The house was burning and you didn't come.”

“Oh my god,” Takahiro whispers. Hajime feels the mattress lift, Takahiro’s warmth disappearing from his side.  _ Oh no, no, don’t go.  _ He quickly looks up, about to yell at Takahiro not to leave him, but he sees he’s just going around the bed, so he just follows him with his eyes. Soon, he’s under the covers and pressed up against Hajime’s side. “Ew it’s so hot in here.”

“Then get out,” Hajime says simply. Takahiro gives him a look and, instead of leaving, makes himself comfortable. He puts a hand around Hajime’s waist and pulls him closer. 

“The house was never burning,” he says. He pushes damp hair out of Hajime’s forehead, his eternally freezing fingers blissfully cool against his skin. “You have a fever. I’m guessing it’s high enough to make you slightly delirious. We’re going to need to get you in the bath to get it down.” He keeps running his hands through Hajime’s hair, his voice soft and soothing. Hajime feels his heart begin to slow down, and he lets out a pleased little noise. This causes the fingers on his scalp to pause, and he whines in protest. Takahiro snorts, resuming the movement. “Tooru is going to be so mad he missed this.” And he sounds smug.

“Don't tell ‘im,” he mumbles out. It’s getting harder and harder to open his eyes. “‘S a secret.”

Takahiro laughs softly. “Okay, it’s our secret.”

\---

When Tooru gets home with Mattsun a few hours later, he finds Makki curled up around Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan’s face buried in Makki’s neck. The idiots. 

He walks towards the bed and lays his hand against Iwa-chan’s forehead and breathes a sigh of relief when he finds it cooler. Makki’s text worried him a little, and he even missed a couple of tosses during the practice match after reading it. 

He goes towards the other side of the bed and lays a hand gently on Makki’s back. “Makki,” he whispers, close to his ear. Makki stirs and opens his eyes slowly, careful not to wake Iwa-chan even in his half-asleep state.

“Mm?”

Tooru rolls his eyes. “You’re gonna catch it, Makki.” His voice is still low, but Iwa-chan shifts in his sleep. He presses even closer to Makki, and Makki turns his attention to him, eyes soft. He pats his head gently and sleepily a couple times. 

“‘M not,” he finally says, turning his attention back to Tooru. He lets out a yawn. “I was going to give him a cool bath. For his fever. But then we fell asleep.”

Tooru rolls his eyes again. “Of course you did. C’mon, get out of there. Mattsun’s in the kitchen, go help him or something.”

“Tsk tsk, Tooru,” Makki says, finally detaching himself from Iwa-chan and replacing his body with a pillow, which Iwa-chan latches onto immediately. “You just want Hajime all to yourself. Selfish much?”

Tooru gives his ass a playful smack once he’s completely out of bed, and Makki laughs. Tooru doesn't deny it. He wishes he could have skipped practice. “Just go!”

\---

“Hiro.”

“Yes, Issei?”

“Didn't you say Tooru told you not to cuddle Hajime because you’d catch his bug?”

“Yes, he did.”

“Come here.”

Takahiro moves towards the doorway, where Issei is looking towards the direction of the bed. When he gets there, he sees Tooru spooning Hajime from behind, face buried in Hajime’s very sweaty hair. He’s still in his sweatpants and team t-shirt. 

“ _ I knew it,” _ Takahiro hisses. Issei takes a picture. 

“We’ll show it to him tomorrow. Now come, I recorded a new bee documentary.” 

Takahiro lets out a happy noise and latches onto Issei’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, apologies if this is a little messy. Q was busy with school and I've been struggling alskfjsdfd


End file.
